


We Have Not Touched the Stars

by electricshoebox



Series: A Line in the Sand Series [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Banter, First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Innuendo, M/M, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29345790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricshoebox/pseuds/electricshoebox
Summary: An autumn meteor shower provides the perfect opportunity for a surprise date. MacCready coaxes Deacon up on the roof to look at the stars. The wine doesn't hurt, either.For Day 11 of Fluffy February. Technically in the A Line in the Sand series but can be read on its own.
Relationships: Deacon/Robert Joseph MacCready
Series: A Line in the Sand Series [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931980
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	We Have Not Touched the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello! So this is one of my contributions for Fluffy February. I didn't have enough time to do all of them but I wanted to jump in where I could! So: have a surprise first date stargazing! Also I know nothing about wine because it gives me migraines so please pretend I know what I'm talking about.
> 
> Thanks to **serenityfails** for beta-reading and providing me the title, from the Richard Siken poem "Crush," which seemed appropriate for these two.
> 
> "We have not touched the stars,  
> nor are we forgiven, which brings us back  
> to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes,  
> not from the absence of violence, but despite  
> the abundance of it.”

“Come on, Deacon, she said it was going to start at midnight!” 

Deacon smothers a yawn into his shoulder as he pulls one of the sweatshirts off the line that spans MacCready’s backyard. He pushes his sunglasses up to squint at it in the dark. It’s still damp at the cuffs, and he’s still got to do something about the hole in the armpit, but he tugs it on anyway. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” 

There’s a bite to the air without the sun to soothe it, late autumn chasing the last of the summer away with its teeth bared. Won’t be long before the grass starts frosting in the early morning. They’ll need to start keeping extra firewood in the kitchen and extra blankets on the beds — bed. On the bed. The only bed they’re using. 

Two weeks ago, right about this time of night, with mud on his shoes and rain still clinging to his coat, Deacon had stood in a borrowed room in Nahant and told MacCready he loved him. And when they made it back to Sanctuary two days later, MacCready had pulled Deacon into his bedroom before he could drop his pack anywhere else and he just… never bothered trying to leave. It’s where he wants to be anyway. 

He’d had plans to end up there tonight, in fact — had some particularly lurid fantasies cooking up that involved him and a pillow and a lot of snoring — but MacCready had other ideas. Ideas that apparently require the creaking wooden ladder he’s currently leaning up against the roof of the old carport. 

“Tell me again why we can’t do this on the ground,” Deacon says, when MacCready fits his boot over the first rung and it whines under his weight. 

“Because someone decided it was laundry day and now all the clothes are in the way.” MacCready throws a look over his shoulder and then climbs up two more rungs. The ladder wobbles, but holds. 

“My mistake, I’ll leave the pieces of dead raider to rot on your beloved duster next time,” Deacon says.

Between all their back-to-back trips the last few weeks, MacCready’s clothing options had dwindled down to what he’s wearing now: a faded pair of jeans, split open at the knees, a red t-shirt with a meaningless logo that’s faded almost to nothing, and a thick tartan flannel. He left the hat somewhere inside. He looks softer like this, without seven belts of bullets strapped to his limbs and pants held together with duct tape and dumb luck. 

MacCready pulls himself over the top of the carport. His boots hit the metal with a quiet rumble, and he sends several ancient leaves skittering down over the side. He steps to the edge and crouches. “Just come on, the view’s better from up here.”

Deacon tips his head back to look at the sky. He can see the stars just fine from down here, thanks. He’s not sure what the big fuss is. MacCready had come jogging around the corner while Deacon was hanging an old button-up on the line between a t-shirt and a soggy pair of jeans, rambling about how “Curie said there’s a meteor shower tonight” and how they needed to stay up and “it’ll be worth it.” And then he’d smiled like what he’d actually said was beer was two-for-one at the Wet Whistle, and Deacon had figured out well before they finally stumbled into dating that that’s the smile he can’t say no to. 

Deacon steps up closer to the ladder. The roof thumps a little as MacCready moves back, leaves crunching under his boots. Deacon tugs lightly on the side rail, the wood a little too soft against his fingers, but it doesn’t seem loose. He swallows down against the queasy feeling pinballing in his stomach. It’s fine. It’s solid. It’s not _that_ high up, really, when you think about it, and — 

“I brought wine,” MacCready says, peering over the edge. 

And he brought wine. So. 

“Hand me the bottle?” MacCready points down near Deacon’s feet. Sure enough, there’s a bottle waiting on the concrete that Deacon hadn’t noticed. He picks it up, surprised to find it full and a little heavy, and stretches onto his tiptoes. MacCready grabs the neck. 

Deacon looks back at the ladder again and tests the lowest rung with the toe of his sneaker. It groans a little when he leans some weight on it, but he doesn’t feel it give. No terrible cracking noise splits the air. It’s fine. It’s _fine_. He can do this. 

He holds his breath and steps onto the rung fully, grabbing tight to the side rails. He waits. 

Leaves crackle above him. A few broken pieces flit off the roof toward the ground. “Are you going to be down there all night?” 

Deacon scowls and looks up. “Maybe if you hadn’t picked a ladder made out of toothpicks—”

“It is not made out of toothpicks, you big baby,” MacCready says. “If you don’t get up here, me and this wine are having a date by ourselves.”

Having a — oh. _Oh_.

There hasn’t exactly been time, since Nahant, for something like that. They come back from one job only to get called out on another, settlement calls and Railroad supply runs and a safehouse route clearance, this last time. Raiders at Monsignor again. Not that Deacon would put it past MacCready to consider a firefight the perfect couple bonding activity, but… stargazing sounds a lot more Deacon’s speed. 

The ladder whines and wobbles as Deacon takes each rung step by careful step. He makes a graceless scramble over the top when he reaches it, nearly kicking the ladder over when his foot snags on the last rung. 

“Watch it!” MacCready says, stumbling over to steady it. The roof grumbles underneath them. 

Deacon rolls onto his side, crushing another pile of leaves under his hip. He glares up at MacCready over the rim of his sunglasses, which slipped down to the tip of his nose in the chaos. MacCready looks at him for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching. Deacon can hear the amusement cracking his voice as he says, “So, uh, not… a fan of ladders?” 

Deacon gives him a flat look, pushing himself upright and getting another handful of shredded leaves for his trouble. “Yes, MacCready, I have a crippling fear of _ladders_. That is definitely the problem here.” 

A snort slips out. MacCready smothers the rest behind his hand. 

Deacon glowers at him. He nods to the bottle MacCready’s still got by the neck as he sits up to a chorus of crunching. “That better be a good year.” 

MacCready snorts again. He walks closer, and sets the bottle by Deacon’s knee. “You’ve got — here.” 

He kneels, plucking at the shoulder of Deacon’s hoodie. Quick fingers pry half-crushed leaves loose and flick them to fall behind him. The last comes free at Deacon’s neck, MacCready’s fingers brushing the skin there. Deacon looks up. MacCready’s staring at the collar of Deacon’s sweatshirt, looking like he’s weighing something in his head. Deacon’s skin tingles. 

Then he finally raises his eyes, and gives Deacon a small smile. His hand leaves Deacon’s shoulder and he stands. He starts kicking down the rest of the leaves off the roof, sweeping them in piles off the edge. Deacon swallows down a weird feeling of disappointment and slides himself further back toward the house’s roof. He swipes the wine bottle and takes it with him, tilting it toward the streetlight one house over. The label’s too faded to make out the year. But MacCready’s already pried the cork loose, and Deacon pulls it free easily. 

“Oh, I see how it is,” MacCready says, looking over his shoulder where he’s tossing the last of the leaves overboard. “Make me do all the work while you steal the booze.” 

The wine sloshes in the bottle as Deacon tips it back. He’s not usually one for wine; he prefers the quick work and slow burn of whiskey where he can get it, and settles for beer where he can’t. But this one’s… nice, actually. It’s smooth on his tongue. He tastes a hint of something that was sweet, once, and something a little earthy, sort of how the leaves smell, but… more pleasant. 

“Damn, Bobby,” he says, forgetting to tease him back as he looks at the label again. “You got the good stuff, huh?” 

“Yeah? I, uh —” MacCready sinks down next to Deacon, looking suddenly nervous. He rubs the back of his neck. “I asked, um, Anthony… what might be, you know. Good.” 

Deacon looks at him for a moment, and slowly starts to smile. MacCready never drinks wine either. Oh, he’d planned this. Well, as much as he could around a few hours’ notice, but… but this is a _date_ date. 

It’s still new, this part. Dating. Falling into bed they’ve got down just fine. It’s easier there, in the close darkness of shared rooms, when want and instinct take over, and there’s nothing else to think about. But outside of that, in the open, things like this… they’re still figuring out how the pieces fit. Still putting them together, one piece at a time. Still fighting to even have the time to try. 

MacCready ducks his head. He starts to reach for the brim of his hat, like he always does when he’s embarrassed. When he realizes it isn’t there, he runs his hand through his hair instead, leaving it ruffled. Deacon’s fingers curl at his side, itching to smooth it down again. MacCready finally dares a glance at him when he doesn’t say anything, and looks away again immediately when he sees Deacon’s smile. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Deacon says, grinning harder.

“Like _that_ ,” MacCready says, and Deacon wishes it was light enough for him to see the flush he knows is creeping up MacCready’s neck. MacCready straightens and reaches around him for the bottle. “Gimme that.”

Deacon’s cheeks are starting to ache a little, he’s smiling so much. He lets MacCready snatch the bottle and watches him swallow down a mouthful. He waits until MacCready sets it down again to say, “Mr. MacCready, are you trying to seduce me?”

MacCready splutters. “What?! I — well, I just thought —”

“Because it’s working,” Deacon says. 

MacCready’s jaw snaps shut. Deacon laughs. 

He turns his hand up, waving his fingers until MacCready takes the hint and hands him the wine again. Deacon takes another long pull. Part of him wants to just say _fuck it_ , shift down, and put his head in MacCready’s lap. Or just lean over and kiss him, taste the wine right off his lips, right here, right now. But another part of him has his eyes fixed on the bunkhouse across the street, and the line of second floor windows pointed right at them. The whole row of them is dark, not even the low orange flicker of a candle behind the curtains, but that doesn’t mean no one will look out right at the wrong moment. 

Deacon passes the bottle back. When MacCready looks up at him, soft-eyed and still nervous, Deacon wishes he didn’t care about those windows at all. 

He crawls forward, swinging his legs around and lowering himself onto his back, his head just below MacCrady’s thigh. “All right, hotshot, tell me what I’m looking for.” 

The wine sloshes again, and Deacon hears the click of MacCready’s throat. Then the bottle lands next to Deacon’s shoulder. The roof thumps again underneath Deacon’s back, and a moment later, MacCready is shuffling down next to him. He presses their shoulders together as he settles. “Curie just said it’d be a bunch of shooting stars.”

“Just all over the sky?”

“Yeah, I guess. Something about the time of year, and — I dunno, she said a lot of technical stuff, it kinda went over my head.” 

They fall quiet for a moment. Deacon pulls off his sunglasses and sets them next to his hip. It’s a clear night, and the sky opens around a sea of stars like a curtain rolling back. The moon sits somewhere overhead, somewhere Deacon would have to tip his head back to see, but gives just enough glow to keep the shadows from looking pitch dark. 

Next to him, MacCready shifts a little. “I know it’s — this’ll sound kinda stupid. But, I didn’t get to see stars much, as a kid. We did our supply runs in the daytime when some of the worst wasteland animals sleep, and there wasn’t much other reason to leave at night. I could see them from the cave mouth, sometimes, if I went close, but… mostly that was asking for trouble.” He curls one leg up at the knee. “But the first night on my own, after I left Little Lamplight? I found this old building. Don’t even know what it was, no signs, no marks, nothing, just boarded up. But it had a flat roof. I managed to climb up, set up camp. I’d never slept in the open before, and never without the other kids around snoring and stuff, so… I couldn’t really sleep. I spent all night just staring up at the stars. There were so many more than I imagined. And if I couldn’t have the cave ceiling, and everything else, at least — at least I got to look at that, you know?”

Deacon swallows around a lump in his throat. He tries to picture a lanky and dirt-striped teenage MacCready, probably just starting to grow stubble on his chin, looking up at the stars with the same wonder lighting up his eyes Deacon had seen in the yard. 

MacCready huffs out a weak laugh when Deacon stays quiet. “Yeah, I know, it’s dumb—”

“It’s not dumb,” Deacon says. He reaches blindly until he hooks a finger around MacCready’s thumb. He tugs until he can slide their palms together, weaving his fingers between MacCready’s. Even from the windows behind them, even with the faint moonlight and the cast-off glow from the street, no one will see their hands if they keep them low. Deacon runs his thumb over the skin below MacCready’s knuckle. “It’s not dumb at all.” 

He hears MacCready let out a breath that hitches, a little. He tightens his fingers around Deacon’s. “I, uh — I used to do this with Duncan, since I didn’t get to as a kid. Our farmhouse has this balcony off the second floor, and… I’d take him out there, try to point out constellations. I only really remember the — whatcha call it, the Big Dipper? And the little one.” He shifts his hips, and lowers his leg again. “So I kinda just made them up. He was only two, three, and he never liked sitting still long, until he got, you know, sick. And then I was just… trying to distract him.” 

Deacon strokes the back of his hand again. He turns his head to look over. MacCready is looking up at the sky, his hair fanned out underneath him. Deacon stares at the long ridge of his nose ringed with streetlight for a moment, aching to kiss it, and then says, “Show me?”

MacCready glances at him, and then scoffs and looks away. “Come on, you don’t wanna hear that.”

“Yeah, I do. Show me,” Deacon says, tugging on his hand. 

“You probably know all the real ones,” MacCready says. 

He doesn’t. He knows a few, like the scattered angles and tight belt of Orion, or the zig-zag bend of Cassiopeia. His mom taught him those, sitting on the beach one summer, when he was young. That, and how to find the North Star. He remembers her trailing a finger across the Little Dipper’s tail. _If you ever get lost…_

But all he says aloud, as he covers the memory with a smile, is, “Bet yours are better.” 

MacCready scoffs again, but he’s smiling, too. He turns and looks over the sky for a moment. “Okay, see that bunch over here that you can kinda make a rectangle out of, with like… a point on top?” He lifts his arm, swinging it out to his left, and Deacon follows his finger.

“Yeah, think I got it.”

“That’s uh… Moley the Molerat.” 

He says it all in one quick jumble, and Deacon bursts out laughing. MacCready elbows him.

“Shut up! He’s little, they had to be easy to remember!” 

“No, no, I see it. Really! I see it. The point is the nose, right?” Deacon says between chuckles. “And he’s busting out of the ground. No, come on, it’s great!” 

“You’re a jerk,” MacCready says, but the smile’s back. “I’m not telling you any more.” 

“No, come on, I’ll behave,” Deacon says, curling a little on his side until he can bump his nose against MacCready’s shoulder. 

“Liar,” MacCready says softly, glancing at him. Deacon just grins. 

MacCready sighs, and Deacon turns back onto his back. Somewhere down the street, a generator coughs and skips, and then rumbles back into rhythm. A breeze passes, catching some of the leaves now scattered on the ground and carrying them off toward the hedge. 

Finally, MacCready says, “All right. See that bunch of bright ones that kinda makes an X?” 

It takes a second. Deacon scans the sky. MacCready points him higher, until he sees a stretched square of stars with one smaller one in the middle. 

“That one’s the Hubflower.” 

Deacon grins. “I see it.” 

“Oh, and — okay.” MacCready shifts onto his side and reaches his free arm right above Deacon’s head. “So, you see that bigger star right there?” 

“Where?” 

“Right… look, down from the bottom of the Hubflower, and then over to the right.” 

Deacon squints. “Maybe?” 

“There’s kind of a sloppy line of stars from that to another bright one.” 

“Okay, I think… yeah.” 

“And then there’s one right across from the first one, and it’s got a straighter line of stars down.” He traces it, and Deacon nods. “That’s the Corncob.” 

Deacon squints harder. “Dude, that’s a dick.”

MacCready swats his shoulder. “It’s a _corncob_.” 

“That, my friend, is a dong.” 

“Deacon, he was _three._ ” 

“I mean, that’s old enough to know what a dick is.” 

MacCready’s struggling to fight a smile down again, Deacon can see his mouth twitching when he looks over. “You’ve just got dick on the brain.” 

“Hey, I calls ‘em like I sees ‘em,” Deacon says, and MacCready stops trying to smother his laughter. He curls until his forehead hits Deacon’s shoulder, and their hands twist awkwardly between them, his body quaking. Neither of them lets go. Deacon says, “All right, all right. We’ll save that secret reveal for when he’s older.” 

MacCready slowly sobers next to him, laughter tapping out in spurts. It takes a second before the words really register for Deacon, and he tries not to react visibly. _We. When he’s older._

He can feel MacCready looking at him. He levers himself up on his elbow and reaches for the wine, twisting his back awkwardly to tip the bottle. As the wine hits his tongue, MacCready says, “Holy crap! I saw one!”

Deacon swallows quickly and snaps his head around. “A shooting star?” 

“Yeah! Over there.” 

Deacon sets the bottle down and shuffles onto his back again to see where MacCready’s spointing. He stares for a moment, barely blinking. 

Two minutes pass, but finally, just above the top of the Hubflower, Deacon sees a bright streak cross part of the sky, winking in and out. Both of them call it out, pointing. 

“See?” MacCready says, looking over. “Told you it’d be worth it.” 

“You’re right.” 

Deacon hesitates a moment, thinking again of the windows across the street. But finally, before he can lose his nerve, he tugs their joined hands up to his lips and leaves a kiss against MacCready’s knuckles. 

His heart hammers in his chest and he settles their hands back down between their hips. He chances a look, and finds MacCready already looking back. The smiles that greets him is really, really worth it. 

“Now who’s seducing who?” MacCready says. 

“You’re the one dragging me out here to look at dick constellations,” Deacon says. MacCready laughs. He looks back up at the sky. 

“Just… stay a little longer?” he says quietly.

Deacon squeezes his hand, and looks back up in time to catch another star flashing by. “Long as you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr @electricshoebox or twitter @galaxiesgone.


End file.
